


Harbors of my own

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Body Horror, F/F, Forced Isolation, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Needles, Romance, Violence, Werewolves, Werewolves but like a gender metaphor yknow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25296430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: Down-on-her-luck Cordelia Tiamo takes a job for the eccentric Mayor Lowell - groundskeeping at her brother Chrom's secluded countryside estate. Once there, Cordelia and her daughter discover the Lowells harbor a dark secret: the lord's sickly daughter kept in confinement, the townspeople murmuring with distrust and fear, and dark shapes moving in the woods at night.
Relationships: Lucina/Serena | Severa
Comments: 20
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> But you had to come along didn't you  
> Tear down the doors, throw open windows  
> Oh if you knew just what a fool you have made me  
> \----
> 
> Hello again I love lucisev ;-;

It’s a beautiful room, it really is. 

It sits on the third floor, large and open, and the window has a view out to the road and the gate, with the pond across the way. Swans glide there, magical and serene, and the sun sets over the mountains beyond, above the woods that sit thick and deep. 

Light is in this room, from sunrise to sunset. Well-stocked with candles and books, for when sewing and weaving and writing and studying and- Food is brought in, so no need to cook. There’s the world at her fingertips, if she only picks up an encyclopedia. 

Chon’sin beauty and Roseanne art, Plegian deserts and Feroxi snow. And outside, the Ylissean countryside, breathing warm and green and lush against the red brick and yellow stone. 

The gap that brings the breeze is at the top of the window, a little cracked-open slot wrought in iron and glass, undone with a pole and a hook. Lucina drags over the chair to stand on it, to put her eyes to the gap and let the cool of late afternoon breezes brush her face. 

The room is light, her bed is soft, her books are new and her window is barred. 

She’ll never be out of this room, not for a long time. 

  
  


-

  
  


Cordelia’s heels tap against the stone tiled loudly, echoing against marble and glass as she slips through the heavy wooden door and into the secretary’s office. A woman sits at the desk, older, stern eyes, wrinkled brow, consulting a pile of papers on her desk. Shafts of white sunlight cascade through the window, lighting the office to a strange pale glow.

Cordelia smooths her skirts and bows her head slightly. “Um, excuse me?”

The woman looks up from her desk silently. In the background, a clock ticks loudly. 

Cordelia clears her throat nervously. “I’m, uh. I received an offer to come in for an interview? For,” she reaches for her handbag and unbuckles the clasps. “Um, I have the offer I received in the letter right here - oh, no-” She pulls the paper from her bag and it comes loose in a scattering of other pieces of paper - crumpled bills of sale, apothecary receipts, bank notices, overdue bills. She cries out in frustration as papers scatter on the floor. 

“It’s, uh, this one-” she says, frantically placing a crumpled letter on the desk before kneeling to pick up the rest of the papers and cram them into her bag. She stands again, brushing off her skirts and adjusting her bag before smiling sheepishly. “My name is Cordelia Tiamo, here to see Lady Lowell.”

The secretary glances from the paper Cordelia handed her to the woman herself. She frowns and stands up, leaving her desk without a word and vanishing through a doorway, leaving Cordelia alone to stew in her anxiety. She lets out a sigh of relief and leans against the desk. 

A large decorative mirror is mounted behind the secretary’s desk, giving Cordelia an unfortunate glimpse of her own reflection. Her tangles of red hair are kept in check by her white headband, but no amount of makeup could disguise the dark bags under her eyes, nor the worn quality of her skirts and jacket. She props herself up on the edge of the desk, closing her eyes and breathing.

She very deliberately avoids thinking about her position. The crumpled bills in her bag, debts, payments for medicine and food... she needed this job. They both needed it. They could only be propped up by Severa’s work for so long, and even that was spotty at best. Already Severa’s work is wearing on her, and Cordelia dreads the day her dry cough turns rough and black and bloody. They needed something safer, something cleaner, something steady. It was not a kind city to a single mother and her daughter not yet of age. 

The door shuts, startling Cordelia from her musing, and she straightens up, at attention, forcing a small, polite smile to grace her lips. 

“Mrs. Tiamo?” the secretary speaks up. Cordelia doesn’t correct her.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“The mayor will see you now.” She holds the offer letter towards Cordelia, delicately pincered by two fingers. “Discretion is appreciated.”

“Of course,” Cordelia takes the letter and bows slightly, murmuring thanks.

Mayor Lowell’s office is a small, modest office, lined with ornate carved bookshelves leaned against the wood-paneled walls. White curtains hang in front of the large glass windows, blocking the view of the street below. 

The woman herself sits behind a desk, her eyes fixed on a pile of paperwork. She seals a letter with a wax stamp, putting it aside to set. After a pause in which Cordelia's heart began to race, the woman looks up and smiles. 

Cordelia had never met Mayor Lowell, but she knew of her - her picture was in the papers, after all, and most had seen her give speeches or show up to events. Cordelia had never had the chance to mingle in high society, but even she knew the soft, angelic face framed in coils of delicately styled golden hair. A painted portrait is hung on the wall behind her, Mayor Lowell and another woman, with short white hair. Back to the Mayor’s front, and gold rings bright on the third fingers of both their hands. 

“Miss...Tiamo, was it?”

Cordelia dips a slight curtsy and nods. 

“Please, please! Sit,” Mayor Lowell swipes the papers to clear her desk and gestures to the two chairs opposite her. “I must say, I was very impressed when I looked at your resume,” she said, fishing a neatly folded piece of paper from her files.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Mayor Lowell flashes a kind smile. “I must confess, I am a little bit desperate, so this is more of an...informal process. As far as I am concerned, you have the job - “

At this, Cordelia’s heart-rate skyrockets.

“But before you accept, I wished to go over the terms of your employment. You understand you would be leaving Ylisstol?”

Cordelia nods and resists the urge to fuss with the straps of her handbag. “To the countryside, right?”

“That’s right. My brother owns a small estate to the east, towards the sea, near Lefcandith Valley. Are you familiar with the area?”

“No, ma’am,” Cordelia shakes her head. “I’ve lived my whole life in the city.”

“Ah! Then you’re in for a treat. It’s a beautiful place this time of year, if you can stomach all the rain.” She turns back to Cordelia’s application. “Do you have family, Miss Tiamo?”

Cordelia nods. “A daughter, Severa. She’ll be twenty this year.”

A slow nod as it is written down.

“So she’ll be coming with you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Very good. Many hands, they say.” Mayor Lowell looks up. “You’ll be given room and board on the estate, provided that you maintain your employment, as well as a personal stipend of five pounds a month. Your living expenses will be covered by the estate, but you may mark additional expenses for important needs. Healthcare, travel with Lord Lowell. New clothes to suit your position." 

The woman casts an appraising glance over Cordelia’s dress, but doesn't meet her eye.

Cordelia nods. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. It’s food, it’s a place to sleep away from the muck and grime and smoke of the city. Severa would hate it - she never cared for the countryside.

“You will be expected to care for the grounds and the upkeep of the estate, as well as domestic duties - cooking, cleaning, washing, laundry, groceries, and the like.”

The way that the mayor speaks makes Cordelia uneasy, for some reason that she can’t quite place. It’s not the words, not the manner of her speech - she’s polite, formal, soft-spoken. Perhaps it’s the look of discomfort in her eyes, nervousness. As if with every sentence she stops before reaching what she truly means to say. 

It’s not that the nature of employment is strange - it’s not uncommon for the wealthy to hire groundskeepers for their summer homes and country estates. That it was the Mayor of Ylisstol’s brother’s home, that was stranger - they could certainly hire better than a down-on-her-luck seamstress and her daughter. 

“Do you have a question, Miss Tiamo?” The mayor stops mid-sentence to ask, realizing that Cordelia had stopped paying attention to think. 

“When will I be starting?” Cordelia recovers quickly and without hesitation.

“As soon as you can, Miss Tiamo. My brother is very eager to have somebody to handle his affairs.”

-

The carriage rocks and creaks as it travels down the dense, wooded pathways. It’s silent out in the countryside, save the clop of horses’ hooves against the dry earth, the rustle of leaves in the wind. Fog rolls silent and slow over the hills. 

“It’s creepy,” Severa draws her arms tight around herself and gazes out the window. 

“Hush,” Cordelia chides quietly. “This will be good for us.”

“I’ll be missing Sir Inigo’s party at the end of the month.”

“And I’ll be spared of you complaining about his behavior.”

Severa is quiet at this, her gaze lingering on the fog rolling through the dense thickets. She frowns and leans closer to the window. “There’s something out there.”

“Local wildlife,” the carriage driver says, looking up over his shoulder. 

Severa grimaces and leans back in her seat. She picks at the frayed patch on the elbow of her jacket and coughs. 

“Besides, the clean country air will be good for you.” 

“I don’t-” Severa coughs again, pressing a balled fist to her lips. It’s a hacking, spasmic cough, harsh and painful. 

Cordelia moves closer to hold Severa’s arm, to support her. 

Severa’s coughing fit peters out and she stares at the floor of the carriage, a tinge of embarrassment in her cheeks. “Fine.” 

“I’d rather you spend time outdoors than crammed into chimneys, Severa.” Cordelia lightly rests a hand on Severa’s knee. 

“I’m fine.”

Neither of them speak.

The carriage follows a winding forest road, weaving between groves of tangled trees. The fog dissipates as they come down from the foothills into a low basin - Lefcandith Valley. 

The village comes into view, emerging like ghosts from the fog. 

A stone church sits at the edge of town, a pile of uneven stone and stained-glass windows bordered with an overgrown wrought-iron fence. Severa presses her face to the window and watches as they roll past a cemetery - old, weathered headstones and tangled weeds. 

In the far corner of the cemetery, a few black-clad mourners huddle around an open grave. A man stands before them, a book in hand. 

The mourners stare at the cart as it rolls past. 

Severa shivers and wraps her arms around herself, tighter.

The village is small, a cluster of houses along the broad, slow river that runs through the valley. There’s a mill building, a waterwill creaking as it rolls in endless revolutions. A few scattered buildings, a few workers. 

Chickens scatter in the road, squawking as the carriage rolls past. 

“This is the town of Lefcandith,” the driver speaks up, looking over his shoulder. “Not exactly the peak of Ylissean high society, but a decent place to find a drink.”

“Is the Lowell estate far?” Cordelia asks. 

“It’s about an hour’s ride on a horse, perhaps three on foot.”

Severa glances uneasily at Cordelia.

“You know how the nobles value their privacy,” Cordelia murmurs. 

Severa stares out the window, and the village people stare back. They’re a rough, hardy-looking sort, gruff and dirty and most with tools in their hands. They all turn to watch the carriage as it passes. A dozen eyes, staring. 

“Eugh,” she shivers. 

“Sir?” Cordelia speaks up as the carriage leaves the town and rolls deeper into the forest. “Who lives in that home?” 

Severa follows her mother’s pointing finger, to a sloped shack sitting on an outcropping over the river. Black smoke coils from the chimney. 

“That’d be the good doctor’s home,” the driver says, pulling back on the reins. The horses whinny and snuffle uneasily. “Let’s hope you have no business there, hm?” 

Severa squints.

She can see shadows inside the doctor’s home. 

Red eyes. 

The carriage hits a bump and Severa jolts, smacking her forehead against the window. She curses and mutters. 

The forest grows thicker, quieter. Only the cawing of crows and the distant howl of wolves, out here. The wilderness. 

More green than Severa had seen in her entire life, but not a rich, bright green. Muted, sickly, moss growing against trees, old decrepit ruins tangled in weeds, trees protruding up between them. The forest  _ feels _ old. Ancient, even. 

Severa closes her eyes and tries to stifle a cough, letting the gentle rocking of the carriage lull her to sleep.

-

“Ah, here we are,” the driver says at last, startling Severa from her nap. 

The first evidence of the Lowell estate is the fence - wrought iron in decorative swirls extending off into the forest in both directions. 

The carriage rolls to a stop at the foot of a great metal gate, wrapped with chains that glimmer and shine silver in the afternoon grey. 

The driver climbs out and unlocks the chain, letting it spool into a pile in the mud before climbing back up and urging the horses onwards. They whinny in protest as they step over the chain and into the estate.

Severa coughs into her fist. 

The Lowell Manor emerges from the fog, a massive country house of yellow stone and brick wrapped in manicured gardens and rolling meadow. To one edge of the grounds is a large pond, rippling water from the disturbance of ducks.

As the carriage draws closer, the evidence of unuse is clear - the gardens are overgrown, choked with weeds. There are rectangular hedges, also overgrown, patchy with gaps, betraying easy solutions to the decorative hedge maze within. 

There is a fountain before the manor - stagnant dark water with dead leaves floating in the top. 

The carriage rolls past the fountain and the horses come to a stop before the manor’s doors. 

“I shall inform the Lord that we have arrived,” the driver says, climbing down from the carriage. He opens the door to the back of the carriage and offers his hand to help Cordelia and Severa climb out. 

Cordelia and Severa stand alone in front of Lowell Manor. 

Severa stretches her legs and cracks her neck, stifling a cough as she idly wanders around the carriage. She pats one of the horses’ flanks. 

“This is incredible,” Cordelie breathes, staring up at the rows of windows. 

“An incredible pain,” Severa mutters, peering into the stagnant fountain. “We have to take care of all of this? It looks like no one’s lived here in a century.” 

“Hush,” Cordelia says quietly. “Be thankful that we have employment.” She corrects herself. “ _ Safe _ employment.” 

“Yes, unless a wight rises up from the grounds to eat our godly souls,” Severa mutters. 

“Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” Cordelia grins. Severa scowls at her, and then laughs. 

The manor doors open with a great, grinding creak. 

“Miss Tiamo,” comes a friendly, casual voice. “And Miss...Tiamo.” Lord Lowell walks down the steps towards them, leaning on a cane, his free arm raised in greeting. “Welcome to Lowell Manor.” He bows dramatically. 

The lord is a tall, regal man with a square jaw and high cheekbones that betray his noble stock. His fitted blue tailcoat is matched to his hair, over white riding pants and high leather boots. His hair is unkempt, his chin unshaven, but his handsomeness is undeniable. 

“Milord,” Cordelia bows, grasping Severa’s arm and tugging her into a matching pose. “It’s an honor.” 

“Please,” Lord Lowell says. “I’ve never been one for formalities.” He extends a hand. “Chrom Lowell. Pleased to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Cordelia cautiously takes his hand. 

“My sister neglected to forewarn me of your beauty,” Chrom remarks. 

Cordelia blushes and stifles a laugh. “Please, sir.” 

“And you,” Chrom turns, “must be Severa.” He extends a hand. “Pleased to have the two of you aboard.” 

Severa stares at his hand, brow furrowed.

“I must apologize for my daughter’s manners,” Cordelia says, mostly at Severa. “She’s unused to speaking to nobles.”

“I was young once, too,” Chrom laughs, letting his hand drop. “Shall I call Mr. Sort to help you with your things?”

“Please, sir, we were brought here to serve you, not the other way ‘round,” Cordelia shakes her head. “Severa, could you-” She frowns. “Severa?” 

Severa’s face is tilted upwards, towards one of the high windows, staring. She glances at Chrom. “Does someone else live here, sir?” 

Chrom’s smile falters. “Perhaps we should tour the grounds before getting you unpacked. I’m sure both of you are aching to stretch your legs.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s due to rain,” Chrom says, walking around the fountain. “So we shall begin with the outside grounds.” He leads Cordelia and Severa around the outside of the manor, past rows of high windows, along hedges. 

“The manor was constructed by my father,” Chrom explains, leading them forward. “A bit of a vain man, and a bastard in his own way, but I must grant that he had a taste for elegance.” He gestures with his cane as they walk. 

“Three separate gardens - one in the Ylissean style, one in the Chon’sin style, and the final a Roseanne flower garden.” Chrom smiles sheepishly. “The last is all but unrecognizable, I fear. Perhaps a Roseanne weed garden would be a better word for it.” 

Severa stares at overgrown planters as they walk past. 

The walled Chon’sin garden is the one best kept, easier by virtue of fewer plants. The raked stone gardens are haphazard, patterns lost in swirls of debris, branches and leaves and grass trimmings scattered across it. They cross a footbridge and past a Chon’sin teahouse - dusty and windswept, again unused. 

“The Ylissean garden is all but a mess,” Chrom confesses as they follow the garden paths between the hedge maze and the Ylissean-style garden.

The maze is mesmerizing. Severa wanders past her mother and Chrom, walking into the first turn. The hedges are high, almost twice Severa’s height, thick enough to make the world inside muted and serene.

“Ah, I would not…” Chrom grasps Severa’s arm lightly and pulls her back. “In frankness, the hedge maze is a dangerous place to be.” 

“Dangerous?” Cordelia frowns.

“It’s overgrown,” Chrom gestures. “No one has been inside in...well, ever, I don’t believe. It’s far too easy to get lost in. From the third floor, you can see parts of the maze - sinkholes have opened up in the middle sections, the ground is weak, the structure is…” He sighs. “I had discussed the idea of razing the entire thing with my sister, but she worried it would do too much damage.”

Severa kneels and gestures. “Psspsspss” she hisses. “Mom, there’s a cat in there!” 

“Ah, yes,” Chrom smiles. “We have a few of those wandering around. They do wonders to keep the mice in check.” 

“Do you have any other animals?” 

“A few horses,” Chrom says. “The stables are around back, towards the carriage house. After Stahl unloads the carriage, we can discuss your lodgings.”

“Will Mr…” Cordelia hesitates. “Will Mr. Sort be staying with us?” 

“Ah, no, he’s in my sister’s employ,” Chrom says. “Er, not Mayor Emmeryn, but my younger sister, Lissa. He’ll be returning to Ylisstol tomorrow.” He smiles politely. “If you have letters to send, best write them tonight.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Cordelia says.

-

The Lowell Estate encompasses 23 acres within the wrought-iron fencing, and hundreds of acres beyond. As Lord Chrom tells it, no one has bothered to chart and measure the exact land - the locals in Lefcandith have taken to calling the whole thing the Lowell Forest, and it’s generally assumed that the whole of the valley belongs to them. 

By late afternoon, the fog clears and the rain rolls in, dark clouds swelling down from the mountain peaks. 

The three are caught outside in the downpour while touring the stables, and Severa tracks rainwater and mud into the house as she enters for the first time.

She stands on the doorstep, holding up one tail of red hair, wringing cold rain out onto the stairs. “Eugh,” she mutters. “I hate being wet.” 

“I deeply apologize, miladies,” Chrom laughs as he ruffles his hair and brushes rainwater out. “I had not expected the rain to come so soon.” 

“It’s no worry, truly,” Cordelia assures him, wringing out the hem of her dress. “That said, a warm fire and a change of clothes would not go amiss.” 

“Hear, hear,” Chrom concurs, taking off his boots and leaving them on the doorstep. “If one of you could be so kind as to load coal into the boiler, I would be most grateful.” He smiles. “No hot water, otherwise.” 

“Severa?”

“Yes, mother,” Severa sighs, leaving her jacket in a sopping pile of mud on the floor. 

-

The cellar is musty and dingy, spiderwebs dusting the corners of the stairs as Severa emerges into the darkness. She holds a candle in front of her, trying in vain to use the small circle of warmth to warm her shaking hands. 

Disused furniture lies in scattered piles, draped with moth-eaten sheets that give the impression of ghosts, or spirits. Severa sighs and holds her candle higher, navigating the maze of wood and linens looking for - ah! The coal-fired boiler. 

She sets her candle down at a safe distance and opens the creaking metal door, frowning as she looks inside. 

Resting on the spent coals is a book - singed to illegibility, the pages melted and the cover burnt away. She reaches her hand in and picks it up gingerly. 

Despite her illiteracy, she can recognize the shapes - it’s written in Middle Ylissean. She can just barely make out the top of an image - what looks like a wolf’s head, gnashing teeth that dissolve into the burnt edges of the page. She squints at it. 

“Severa?” comes a voice, echoing through the cellar. 

Severa shakes her head and drops the book back into the boiler and picks up a shovel. 

She manages a few shovel-fulls of coal before the soot kicks up and coats her lips. She drops her shovel, hacking and coughing, her spasms harsh enough to pull her to her knees. She weakly coughs into her fist, trying to ignore the feeling of wetness on the back of her hand. 

She has a job to do. 

She pushes herself up on unsteady feet and lifts her shovel again. 

-

The pipes creak and groan as warm water flows through them. Even in the parlor, it’s a noisy affair - the walls making eerie groans as Severa sits with her mother in front of the fireplace. 

“Are you alright, Severa?” Cordelia asks, pulling the blanket around her shoulders tighter. 

“Yes,” Severa weakly lies. 

“Severa…” Cordelia purses her lips. “We have a little bit of laudanum left if you need it.”

“I said I’m fine.” 

Cordelia drapes her arm over Severa’s shoulders and squeezes lightly. 

“This will be good for us. Both of us.” 

Severa nods, her eyes glazed over as she stares into the crackling fire. 

“Well,” Chrom says, walking into the parlor and straightening the collar of his button-up shirt, “I would offer dinner but I must confess I am not much of a cook.” 

“That’s quite alright, sir,” Cordelia scrambles to her feet and bows.

Chrom holds out a hand and nods. “No need to stand on my account. Better to be dry and warm than have you fall to pneumonia on your first day.” 

Cordelia sits again and watches as Chrom moves to the side of the parlor, to a heavy wooden liquor cabinet nestled between two full bookcases.

Outside, rain lashes the windows. 

The sound of a heavy glass, the unscrewing of a bottle as Chrom pours himself a glass of something amber. He lifts the bottle. “Drink?”

“No, thank you, sir,” Cordelia says. 

Severa looks at her with pleading eyes.

“One for the lady, then,” Chrom says, getting out a second glass. 

“She doesn’t need any, either,” Cordelia says, gently patting Severa’s damp hair. 

“Suit yourself.” 

Chrom looks all the more a portrait of leisure as he settles into a heavy armchair, glass in hand. He sips pensively. 

“Well,” he says at last, after savoring and swallowing a mouthful. “What do you think of the Lowell Estate?” 

“It’s beautiful,” Cordelia says. “It’s truly an honor to be here.” 

Chrom laughs and sets his drink on a side table. “Let it never be said my father did not have taste.” 

Cordelia takes the blanket from around her shoulders and drapes it over Severa. “Sir, if I might speak freely…?”

“Of course,” Chrom takes another drink, his crystal glass sparkling in the firelight. 

“You’ve spoken of your father with some...trepidation.” 

“Contempt, rather,” Chrom sighs, setting his glass down again. “My father made his fortune in the first Plegian-Ylissean war.”

Cordelia’s stomach turns. 

She had served in the war, briefly - as a nurse at one of the infirmaries. She remembers the blood and the swords and the rust and the entrails. She remembers stories of men taking glory and riches at the point of a bayonet. Dead men with pockets lined by Plegian gold. Wholesale slaughter, for years, until the war of attrition at last petered out.

“My sister says you served.”

“That is true, sir.” 

“Then you know what pointless miseries the war begot.” 

“As you say, sir.” 

Severa draws closer to the fire. Her mother had never talked about the war. 

Chrom sighs and takes another long, slow drink. “But enough of that dismal talk.” He forces a smile. “How do you find our fair valley?”

“Wet,” Severa says plainly, picking up a fire poker and prodding one of the burning logs. 

“Aye,” Chrom laughs. “And so it will be for a few months yet.” 

“I had meant to ask, sir,” Cordelia frowns. “Is it just you here? Such a large manor must get very lonely.” 

Severa stares at the glowing embers, silent. 

“Ah...yes,” Chrom sighs and stands, crossing the room to pour another drink. “That is the other thing.” He pours a drink and drains it in one long, slow draught, before pouring a second. 

Severa glances at her mother, and then at Chrom, and then back to her mother.

Chrom limps as he paces the length of the parlor, stopping at a window and gazing out into the dark nighttime rain. Lightning flashes, darkening Chrom to a silhouette against a portal of white. He doesn’t break his gaze to turn and face Cordelia and Severa as he speaks. 

“I...I live here with my daughter, Lucina.”

Severa’s eyes widen. The face she had seen in the window - a pale young girl. She had thought it might be a ghost, or, more realistically, a case of pareidolia. 

“A daughter, sir?”

Chrom nods and takes a drink. “She’ll be nineteen this April.”

Cordelia forces a nervous smile. “Just about Severa’s age, then. Perhaps the two of you could spend some t-”

“No!” Chrom snaps, whirling around. “No, I...I mean…” he sighs and rubs his temples. “My daughter, she’s...she’s very ill.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia murmurs. 

“Her bedroom is on the third floor,” Chrom continues, easing back into his armchair with a wince. “At the top of the stairs.” He takes a breath. “It is to remain locked at all times. She is not to be disturbed.”

“Understood.” 

“Before each meal, I would like you to make her a plate and I will bring it to her. She has strict dietary requirements you will need to adhere to.”

“What kind of sickness does she have?” Severa asks, setting her fire poker down.

“She…” Chrom swallows nervously. “It’s a very rare, very contagious illness. She’s very weak and very frail, and requires the utmost care.” He glances at Cordelia. “I help her bathe, and her doctor comes every fortnight to treat her illness, so you will not need to worry about caring for her in that regard.” 

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

“Really, you will barely even notice that she’s there.”

He drains his drink and leaves the empty glass on the side table. 

“I will take my leave now. Goodnight, Madam Tiamo,” he nods to Cordelia,” and Miss Tiamo,” he nods to Severa. “Tomorrow begins your first day of work, so be sure to rest up.”

“Goodnight, sir,” Cordelia waves him off.

Severa lays on her stomach in front of the fire, sprawled out on Lord Lowell’s elegant, plush rug. She presses a cheek against it, sighing. 

The rain is quieter, now, pattering against the windows like tiny fingers tapping against the glass. The fire burns low, occasionally popping. 

“Hey, mom.”

“What’s the matter?” Cordelia says, rubbing her eyes. She had begun to doze off without realizing it.

“If Lord Lowell’s daughter is so sick, why does her bedroom door have five padlocks on it?” 


	3. Chapter 3

Severa and Cordelia’s bedroom is bigger than their entire apartment had been in Ylisstol, with a high ceiling and wide windows. Two beds lay on either side of the bedroom, an elegant carved wardrobe in between. 

One bedroom out of the twenty in the house. 

Cordelia is asleep as soon as her head hits the feather pillow. 

Severa isn’t so lucky. Her cough keeps her up, stifling hacks with her pillow and trying not to cough anything up. She pushes the window open, just a little, enough to let in the cool night air and the scent of rain that speckles the inside of the windowsill. Severa kneels and puts her face to the window, gasping for fresh air. 

Perhaps she should have taken her mother up on the tincture. 

She rubs her eyes and brushes her hair. The long tangles of red drape down the back of her nightgown, almost reaching the back of her thighs. Untied, unkept. She yawns and picks up a spent candle from the bedside. 

“S...Severa?” Cordelia blinks and rolls over in her own bed.

“Mmn,” Severa mutters blearily. “Piss.” 

“Be...careful,” Cordelia’s voice trails off into gentle snores. 

Severa lights the candle and wraps her finger around the metal handle, picking it up and carrying it towards the front of their apartments. 

The house groans and creaks in the wind. The hardwood floors are cold under Severa’s bare feet as she steps into the hall and heads for the grand staircase. 

Theirs is a second-floor bedroom, nestled in the back corner of the house, with windows looking out on the Chon’sin garden. The house settles around Severa, like the innards of a hungry beast of wood and stone. She rubs her eyes with her free hand and tries desperately to not think about every ghost story she has read, every tall tale and fable that tells of ghosts and phantoms and haunted manors. Her little bubble of light only illuminates so much around her, a little glow of yellow in the vast darkness of the manor. 

She rounds a corner and yelps. 

A figure stands in front of her, an axe raised up - she coughs on it. 

A suit of rusted armor. She scowls and kicks the suit’s shins with a rattle. 

The rattle of armor echoes down the hallway. Severa olds one arm around her midsection and shivers, the other holding her candle aloft. Her nightgown is thin and light, shifting around her as she walks. Breezy, some might call it. Wind chills her thighs. 

The Lowell Manor is equipped with a state-of-the-art indoor plumbing system, capable of piping hot water up from the boiler for warm baths, running sinks on all three levels of the house, and - Severa is loath to admit the comfort - indoor bathrooms. 

She stretches and cracks her neck as she makes the trek back up the stairs towards the bedroom. 

Thunder rumbles outside the house, muted and distant. 

She’s climbing the stairs when she first hears it.

Whimpering. Almost imperceptible. 

Severa frowns. 

Whimpering and scraping. Repeating but irregular. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

Severa swivels her head around, trying to find the source. It’s not a ghost. It’s not a ghost. She climbs the stairs higher, and the sounds get louder.

Scrape. Scrape.

She holds her breath and listens. 

Another whimper - soft and pained, like the whining of a wounded dog. Severa climbs the stairs faster, stumbling out onto the landing and finding her face-to-face with the door to Lord Lowell’s daughter’s room.

Silver padlocks shine in the light of her candle. 

Severa creeps closer, listening. Listening. She presses an ear against the door and wills her heart to be still.

Harsh, rapid breathing, interspersed with whispers - not just whispers, but whines, words slipping through in snatches of pained gasps. Scraping of wood on wood. A rattle of metal. 

Severa kneels, heart pounding, pressing her face to the door. The door’s keyhole is small and slight, barely giving her a glimpse of the room beyond. 

Moonlight streams through an open window, casting shadows. Shapes beyond, darkness shifting and changing as the curtains blow in the wind. The sound of pattering rain. Those whimpers. 

A shadow lays on a four-poster bed, writhing and thrashing. The shadow stops.

Piercing red eyes bore into the keyhole. 

Severa yelps and stumbles backwards away from the door, tripping on the top of the stairs and tumbling down, head over heels until she lands with a loud  _ oof!  _ at the mid-level landing. The candle splatters at her side, splashing hot wax on the floor as the metal holder skitters across the floor. 

“Ow,” Severa mutters, pushing herself upright and rubbing her bruised forehead. “Ouch.” She puts her hands in hot melted wax and yelps again, wincing. 

“What’s wrong?” Chrom shouts, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs above her. “What’s happening?”

“Ah,” Severa winces and sits up again. “I…ow,” she sits heavily. “S-sorry, I slipped.” 

“I’ll say,” Chrom frowns, seemingly more occupied with checking his daughter’s bedroom door than with Severa’s tumble. He fusses with the padlocks as Severa picks herself up and collects her candle debris.

-

“I don’t think it necessarily means anything,” Cordelia says, getting dressed. “He’s just...concerned about his ill daughter.” 

“His  _ creepy _ daughter,” Severa remarks, pulling a dress over her head. “Making sounds like that...eugh, that was so weird.” 

“Severa,” Cordelia rests a hand on her shoulder. “Please, be...more tactful.” 

Severa sighs and straightens her skirt.  _ Be more tactful _ means  _ don’t screw this up _ . She stands in front of the bedroom’s full-length mirror and ties up her hair into long twintails, red draping down along the back of her uniform. She combs her fingers through the bottom of her hair, brushing out knots. She grimaces at the bruise on the top of her forehead and drapes her bangs down to cover it.

Cordelia rests a hand on the small of Severa’s back, gently pushing her as Cordelia sidles past.

“Can you get the boiler going for warm water? I’m going to tidy up the kitchen.” 

“Ah…” Severa grimaces and touches a ginger finger to her forehead. “Actually, could you do that? It makes my cough act up.”

Severa didn’t want to confess that the cough wasn’t all she was worried about - the dark, cobwebby corners made her nervous, especially after the encounter the night before. Anything could be lurking down there. Ghosts, ghouls, monsters, anything looking to snatch her up as a snack. Her rasping cough just provided a convenient excuse. 

Cordelia purses her lips. “Can you get the kitchen ready to make breakfast, then?” 

The sun shines through the windows, casting bars of white light in the stairwell as Severa descends, gingerly holding her skirt up and stepping down, trying not to repeat the mistakes of the night before. She stops at the landing, staring upwards at the mysterious padlocked door. 

Silent, now.

It’s a cool, damp morning, the windows speckled with rainwater and mud. Severa stops at the front door to pick up her jacket and drape it over the railing outside, letting it dry in the morning sun.

She stops on the porch and stares out at the property. 

The sun nestles just behind the mountains, a bright morning glow cascading through the trees. The lawn sparkles with dew between tracks of mud. 

Horses whinny, somewhere, and Severa can hear the slow creak of the carriage as the driver pulls it around from the carriage house.

“Hello, Mr. Stahl,” Severa waves, smiling politely

Stahl sits at the front of the carriage, lifting up a hand to cover a yawn. “Ah...good morning, Miss Tiamo. You’re up early.”

“To work already,” Severa grumbles, folding her arms over her chest. “Are you heading back to Ylisstol this morning?” 

“That’s right,” Stahl nods. “Last chance if you’d like to return.”

Severa laughs nervously. “Wh...what?” 

“Ah, sorry,” Stahl laughs. “That sounded more ominous than I had meant. What I mean to say is, the river level rises in the Autumn. In a few weeks, it’ll be nearly impossible to leave the valley.”

“Well…” Severa grimaces. “I guess it’s good we have a place to stay.”

“Right you are, miss,” Stahl nods. “Right you are.” 

-

Severa heats water on the stove for tea, humming idly as she goes, poking her face into the cabinets and cupboards of the kitchen. It’s a big, regal kitchen, with a wood-fire stove and an endless vastness of cupboard space. Silver dishware sits in glass cases, dusty and untouched. Severa picks up a spoon and rubs her thumb on the back, looking for a maker’s mark. 

Not silver, then. Polished iron.

She opens the glass cabinet and pulls out a silver cup, checking the bottom. Again, no maker’s mark. The dishware is all elegant and handcrafted, its design certainly not betraying its base metal materials. Severa frowns. So much for pawning spoons for some extra scratch. 

The teapot whistles. 

Chrom is sitting at one end of the long dining room table, a book spread open before him - though he seems more interested in the back of his eyelids. 

“Tea, sir?” Severa asks politely, trying to wake him gently. 

“Augh!” Chrom jumps, startled. “Ah! S...Severa, yes, of course.” Remembering his manners - “Please.”

Severa bows and sets down a teacup before sprinkling in dried tea leaves and hot water. “May I speak plainly, sir?” 

“Of course,” Chrom sits up, picking up a teaspoon to idly stir the hot water. “Oh, and if you would be so kind, there’s honey in the cupboards.” 

“Of course.” Severa smiles nervously. “Um, sir, you...well, I was going to prepare breakfast, but…”

“Ah, yes,” Chrom sighs, tapping his teaspoon and setting it down on his saucer. “Unfortunately, it’s been some time since I’ve been able to pick up groceries. Fetch some eggs from the henhouse by the stables, if you’d be so kind.”

Honey. Eggs. That’s easy enough.

Severa brings Chrom a glass jar of honey, setting it on the table before bowing again and taking her leave. She stops in the kitchen to pick up a basket and heads towards the door. Cordelia comes the other direction, raising her hand in greeting. 

“Oh, hello, Severa,” Cordelia smiles. “Where are you off to?” 

“He eats like a bachelor,” Severa grimaces. “I’ve seen fuller cupboards at halfway houses.” 

“Well, he hasn’t had anyone helping him run the house,” Cordelia shrugs. “Are you going to buy groceries?” 

Severa shrugs. “Getting eggs from the henhouse, though if I don’t have any other tasks, I may go into town later today.” She sighs and rests her hands on her hips. “I can’t imagine a backwoods town like this has anything good to eat, anyways.” 

Cordelia laughs and ruffles Severa’s hair, which never fails to make Severa scowl. “I have checked the storeroom and he at least has flour and salt, so…”

“So we subsist on bread!” Severa declares dramatically as she marches out the front door. 

The sun is warmer, fog already dissipating, but the unkept lawn is still long enough to soak Severa’s leggings through up to nearly her knees as she treks across to the stables. She scowls, shaking wet grass from her legs as she marches, muttering about chickens and bread. 

Oh, what she would give for some bacon. A proper breakfast. 

She ignores her stomach growling as she crouches down and opens the door to the henhouse. She is greeted almost instantly by the panicked squawking of birds, crying and fluttering about. Feathers fly about the inside of the henhouse and Severa yelps, shaking her arms and trying to keep the birds away. 

It’s not until the chickens flutter past her that she sees it:

Blood, splattering the back of the henhouse. A veritable massacre - bloody feathers and dead birds, red-soaked hay. Severa steps forwards, cautiously, holding her basket forward like a shield. 

Foxes, too? As if everything else wasn’t already enough - 

A hen squawks and flutters out the door that Severa had left open.

“H-hey! No! Don’t!” Severa cries out in a panic as more birds shuffle out the door. She scowls and sprints for the door, too late to lock in anything but bloody corpses. 

She sighs and steps out into the yard, watching the chickens squawking as they mill around, pecking at the grass and fluttering randomly, reveling in their newfound freedom. 

Severa lets out a weary sigh, eyes cast skyward. A fine start to her first day. 

She manages to grab a few lethargic birds and toss them back into the henhouse, but as more time passes, the birds scatter more and more to the early-morning wind. She yelps, cursing at the birds as she sprints around the yard, desperately trying to round them up. She manages to snatch up one particularly rowdy chicken before it squawks, flapping its wings and squirming, kicking its way free and scratching Severa’s arms with its feet. 

Severa scowls and breaks into a sprint after it - a futile gesture, as her irritation and impatience just makes the chickens all the more slippery. She shouts a curse and dives through the air, arms reaching out - and lands facefirst in the mud, sliding along the wet grass.

The chicken squawks in victory and stands beside her head, clucking and pecking at the grass.

Severa blinks at it. “Alright, you win,” she mutters, pulling herself up. She rests back on her scuffed and chicken-scratched hands, gazing up at the house.

She sees a figure on the third floor, watching her back. 

In the morning light, she can see the girl more clearly - a pale, slender girl with blue hair that matches her father’s, clad in a silken white dress. She smiles as she stares out the window, stifling a laugh. And then she breaks into a fit of silent giggles.

Severa smiles up at her wryly. 

“You saw all that, did you?” she asks. 

The girl laughs again, and Severa can’t help but laugh with her, giggling until she collapses in the grass, coughing. 


	4. Chapter 4

Severa tugs the reins on her horse, trotting past the fountain and the front door. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Cordelia asks, leaning against the doorframe. 

“I’ll be fine,” Severa says, pulling up the reins. “Promise.”

“If you have a coughing fit, I want you to come back home  _ immediately _ ,” Cordelia frowns. 

“Yes, yes,” Severa sighs. Her horse trots anxiously. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” She grins. “Better than cleaning the house.”

Cordelia nods. “Oh!” she calls after Severa. “If you could, stop at the doctor and see if you’d be able to get more laudanum for your c-”

Her voice fades out as Severa digs her heels into the stirrup, breaking her horse into a sturdy gallop. This, finally, was the thing she had been most excited for - the thing that makes all of the drudgery and the chores and the living in isolation worth it. Wind in her hair, hoofbeats on the trail, the feeling of muscle and energy beneath her legs. 

Severa had ridden horses before, but never like this - where she can go wild, as fast as she can, the horse galloping down the forest trail towards town. 

It’s a clear, humid afternoon, and Severa can hear birds chirping and scattering to the air as she gallops past, deeper and deeper into the woods. 

“Yah!” she shouts, lashing the reins, urging her horse faster. She follows the winding trail, across crumbling stone footbridges over trickling brooks, through densely-packed groves of trees and through the occasional rolling meadow. It’s an hour’s ride into town, Chrom had told her. She was determined to make it in forty-five minutes. 

Her horse whinnies and almost bucks her off as it skids to a stop. Severa cries out, desperately holding tight. “Woah, woah! What’s wrong?” 

The horse shakes its head and whinnies again, snorting. 

Severa sighs. “Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you sprint like that.” She pats the horse’s neck, stroking its mane. “You want to stop and rest? Get some water?” 

The horse is staring forward into the woods. 

Severa slides out of the saddle and lands with a on the trail, her riding boots splatting in the damp mud. She pats the horse’s flank. “Shh, it’s fine,” she mutters. Probably just some local wildlife. Given her luck? Probably more foxes. 

She drops the reins and steps off the trail cautiously. She leans her head left, then right, looking around the twisting tangles of branches. 

“Hello!” she calls. “Anyone out there?” 

Silence is her answer. 

No birds, here, she notices. No insects. No wind. Still, humid air. Dim sunlight, scarcely able to cut through the trees. She hears a stick crack.

“Hello?” Severa shouts again. “Who’s there?” 

Another crack, from behind Severa.

“I have a rifle!” she lies. “I’m not some defenseless maiden!”

Silence.

Severa shakes her head and climbs back onto her horse, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest, the way her hair stands up on end. She gently nudges the horse forwards. “Okay, come on, we can...let’s just get out of here.” 

The horse seems inclined to agree. 

-

Severa ties up outside of Lefcandith village, gently patting her horse and promising it a fresh apple if she can find one. She takes a deep breath.

The village is quiet, and Severa begins to suspect that it’s always quiet. A few townspeople mill about - men in faded jackets and women with stern faces. Some glance at her suspiciously as she passes, others turning to whisper to each other.

Severa scowls. It’s a small town, surely everyone already knew she was here. She puts one hand on her hip and stops in front of an older bearded man. “Excuse me, sir?” she asks, though her firmness is more of a declaration. “Could you point me towards a general store?”

He nods and points, not saying anything.

Okay, Severa thinks. Creepy. 

No manners in these backwood folks, Severa shakes her head, heading down the narrow street. She makes a note of places she passes - an apothecary, a tanner, a few clustered houses. Finally - a large stone hut with smoke pouring out of the chimney. Severa can’t read, but she can smell it - meat! 

She pushes open the door and steps inside. The doorbell jingles as she does. 

No one is in the store. She frowns. 

“Hello?” she asks quietly. 

Behind the counter, she can see the source of the smell - a crackling fireplace with skewered meat cooking on it. Her mouth waters as she approaches the counter. 

No, she’s here for groceries. Not snacks. 

“Hello?” she says again.

“Oh, hello,” come a voice from behind her. 

She yelps and almost leaps out of her skin. 

A young woman behind her laughs as she emerges from a cellar, one arm lifting a sack of grain and the other a small cask. She’s a gruff-looking woman, stern, with close-cropped red hair in wild tufts. She grunts as she sets down the sack of grain. 

“Sorry about the wait,” she says politely. “You must be the new girl up at the Lowell estate.”

“Yes,” Severa nods and bows politely. “Severa Tiamo. My mother and I will be working for Lord Lowell.”

“Mm, I bet,” the woman grins and sets her cask down on the counter. “Ale?”

Severa frowns. “I’m...working.”

“Really? Looks like you’re standing around,” the woman slips behind the counter and leans against it. The way she looks at Severa makes Severa feel like she’s being evaluated. The woman laughs. “Oh, I’m just kidding.” She playfully swats Severa’s arm. “Where’s the funeral? Lighten up, will ya?” 

“To be honest, everyone else was being creepy, but somehow I’m more weirded out that you’re being friendly with me.”

The woman nods. “Ah, well, the Lowells aren’t exactly liked around here.” She shrugs. “Unfortunately, I grew up with the damn lad, so I know him too well to be suspicious.” She holds out her hand. “Sully Soiree, at your service.” 

Severa takes her hand and shakes it. “Pleased to meet you, miss-”

“None of that,” Sully cuts her off. “Just Sully. Lest people remember that I’m Aurelian.” 

“Better than being a Lowell.”

“That’s true,” Sully nods. “What can I do for you, Miss Severa?” 

Severa nods and fumbles with her jacket pocket. “Ah, my mother sent me to pick up groceries for the manor.” She produces a letter sealed with wax - the Lowell crest, she assumed. “I’ll need these things.”

Sully takes the letter and opens it, unfolding the paper within. She frowns. “This is a pretty big order - are you sure?” 

Severa shrugs. “My mom wrote it and Lord Lowell signed off on it. I couldn’t say.” 

“Lord, how is that man still alive?” Sully scoffs and sets the letter down. “No sugar? No  _ soap _ ?! I can have this prepared for you in...say, an hour or so? With an order this big, you’ll probably need a cart, so I can send you back with my daughter.” 

“Really? You’d do that for us?” Severa asks, surprised. 

“Like I said, the lord and I go way back,” Sully nods. “Haven’t seen much of him in years, but I don’t mind a favor.” She gestures. “Come back in an hour or so and we should be ready to go.”

-

Severa stands on the edge of town, staring at the river.

There’s a rickety wooden dock with a few boats tied up, but no one else seems to be along the river. It smells - no, she realizes, it  _ doesn’t _ smell. The water doesn’t have the same pungent aroma that the waterways in Ylisstol did - no smell of garbage and sewage and rotting fish, just...water.

Severa crouches and cups a handful of water. It’s clear and cold. Hell, she could probably drink it without getting sick.

A bell tolls out over the town - no doubt from the church. Severa stands and cracks her neck. Still some time yet before the shopkeeper would be ready with her order. Just enough time to poke around town and see what there is to see. 

Not a  _ single _ boutique, much to her dismay. But that’s for the best - she can’t imagine there’s much to Lefcandith Chic, and even her leather riding jacket put her head and shoulders above the townspeople. Maybe she  _ does _ stick out as a city-dweller, she begrudgingly decides. Better than dressing in old, drab cotton. 

The apothecary sells mostly herbal remedies and weak tinctures - nothing as strong as the laudanum Severa take for her cough, and half of the goods are things she doesn’t even recognize. Dried thistle, angelica root, powdered bloodroot...she frowns and peers at a glass jar. Candied raspberries?  _ That’s _ not medicine. She pays a few copper coins for some raspberries and eats them as she walks through town. 

She stops at the edge of town and narrows her eyes.

Ahead, on a steep cliff, jutting out over the banks of the river, she can see the doctor’s hut.

White smoke pours from the chimney today. 

Severa swallows a berry and sets off down the banks of the river. 

-

The cliff is windswept and cold, the river mostly white water and whirlpools here. The river washes against the cliff, spraying white mist. The beach turns into stones, and then a rickety wooden staircase switchbacking up the cliff. Severa makes a mental note to take the trail next time, rather than confront this. 

She steps and almost slips, leaning forward and clutching the rock. Careful, Sev, she reminds herself. 

The stairs emerge at the top, a broad plateau with dry grass waving in the wind. There’s a firepit outside, nothing but blackened cinders, and an empty meat smoker, and a haphazard pile of wooden benches. 

Severa wraps her arms around her stomach as she approaches the front door. The cold air makes her cough. 

She lifts her hand to knock, but as she does the door opens wide.

A woman smiles at her politely. “Hello, there,” she says, her voice low and sultry. “You must be Miss Tiamo.” 

“I…” Severa frowns, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, what? Who are you?”

“Me?” the woman’s smile makes Severa feel uneasy. “My name is Aversa, and I am the good doctor’s assistant.” She’s a tall woman, with dark eyes and long, white hair that drapes in silky strands down her shoulders. She’s dressed in pitch-black, her dress a deep V-shape down her torso, making Severa sweat.

“Ah…” Severa stifles a cough. 

“Please,” Aversa opens the door and beckons. “Come in.” 

Severa coughs again, lurching forward and hacking. Not a wet cough, fortunately, so she limps inside with relief. 

The building is more of a hut that Severa had assumed from the outside - not unlike the apothecary in town, but unlike that, Severa couldn’t even hazard a guess at the things she was looking at. Vials of liquid, flasks of thick, dark goop, glass jars of eyes, fresh, bloody meat dangling from hooks, preserved organs in jars. It made Severa’s stomach turn. 

“Apologies for the mess,” Aversa says, pulling the hood of her cloak down. “Doctor Gangrel often makes house calls rather than see patients here.”

“Doctor Gangrel?” Severa asks. “Is he...is he the one treating Lord Lowell’s daughter?” 

“That’s right,” Aversa nods. “What a poor, unfortunate child.” 

“Yeah…” Severa murmurs. 

“But, of course, I am not at liberty to discuss his patients in any detail.” Aversa gives a sly grin that shows her teeth - jagged, pointy. “You have a cough, yes?” 

“Ah…” Severa rubs the back of her head. “Yeah, I...I used to clean chimneys in the city, so-”

“Pneumoconiosis,” Aversa nods, bending over a table and peering into some glass containers. “You’re here for a cure, then?” 

“A...cure? New-mono-what?” Severa shakes her head. “No, I was just hoping I could get some laudanum.” 

Aversa scoffs and sits down at the table, reaching out to open one of the glass vials. “Laudanum? Is that really what they’ve been giving you in the city?” 

“Well, it’s...I mean, it helps,” Severa says.

“Of course it does - a tincture of powdered opium? Might as well be handing out military morphine,” Aversa scoffs. She unscrews the cap of a metal bottle and begins measuring out a scoop of something - fine white powder, almost like sugar.

“So...you don’t have it?” 

“I can make you some,” Aversa murmurs. 

“What’s that you’re measuring?” Severa asks, peering at the white powder.

“This?” Aversa laughs and drops the spoonful of powder into a glass vial. “This is sugar. Helps it go down easier.” 

“Oh.” Severa feels a little foolish. 

Aversa continues to speak as she measures out more ingredients. “Honey would be better, but sugar is cheaper.” She stands up and crosses the room to a shelf piled high with bottles. “Whiskey, gin, or soju?” 

“Um…” Severa frowns. “Gin.”

“Good, we’ve got lots of that,” Aversa selects a bottle. 

The door opens behind Severa while she watches Aversa work, and a man clad in a yellow cloak over his black clothing steps inside. He pulls off his hat, revealing a head of dark, fiery hair. “Oh!” he looks at Severa in surprise. “I didn’t realize we had guests.” 

“Miss Tiamo here was just looking for a tincture of opium to treat her cough,” Aversa explains, screwing a cap onto her glass vial. “I was just about to send her on her way.” She hands Severa the vial.

“Nonsense!” the man shakes his head. “Please, stay for dinner. I insist.” He grins - his teeth, too, are sharpened. His smile is yellow-stained and unnerving.

“I really should be going,” Severa steps back from him, clutching her medicine to her chest. “I...I’m expected.” 

“Ah, is that so?” the man steps closer, narrowing his eyes. “So someone knows you’re here?”

“I…” Severa steps back again. “Yes,” she lies. “Miss Sully at the general store is expecting me back in town.” 

“A shame,” Gangrel says. 

“Thank you for the medicine,” Severa says, fumbling for her coin-purse. She doesn’t even bother counting before leaving a pile of coins on Aversa’s table and walking towards the door.


	5. Chapter 5

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sully remarks from the top of a wagon. 

“Yeah, I’m…” Severa shakes her head. “I’m okay. Is everything going alright?” 

“Yep,” Sully says, jumping down with a puff of dirt. “Just about ready to ship out. You need anything else?” 

“Just what’s on the list,” Severa says, examining the wagon. It’s piled high with goods and sundries, barrels banded in iron and unmarked cloth sacks. Severa prods a wooden crate, lifting the lid slightly. Inside it smells of salt and preserved meats. 

“I know your list said butter, but you’ll have to settle for lard. I hope that’s alright.”

Severa shrugs. “Whatever you have is better than nothing.”

“I can’t imagine what that man’s been eating this whole time,” Sully shakes her head and paces around towards the front of the wagon. “Certainly not enough for two people.” 

“Yeah, I - BWAH!?” Severa yelps, staggering backwards as a face appears at her side. 

A woman with short, dark hair is sitting in front of the wagon, a rifle resting on her legs. Her muddy boots are kicked up on the footboard, her legs crossed. Severa’s taken aback for a moment - she’s dressed in men’s clothing. The woman must recognize Severa’s uncertainty because she takes a swig from a flask and laughs. “Sorry about that,” she says, sitting up. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“I…” Severa presses a hand to her racing chest. “It’s been a weird afternoon.”

“Severa, meet my daughter, Kjelle,” Sully says, patting Kjelle’s shoulder. “Strong as an ox and half the brains of one.”

“Hey!” Kjelle protests, wrapping her arm around her mother’s neck and pulling her into a headlock. Sully breaks free from the play-wrestle easily enough and runs a hand through her hair. 

“She’ll be riding with you back to the estate. You bring a horse into town?” 

Severa nods. 

“Can it haul a coach?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Severa nods again. 

“Great!” Sully claps her hands. “We can hitch you up and have the horses share the load.” 

-

Severa sits on the front of the wagon at Kjelle’s side, nervously gripping her knees. 

“You okay?” Kjelle cocks her head to the side as the tugs the reins and guides the cart down the village main street. “You look pretty spooked.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Severa shakes her head. “Just been a weird day is all.”

“Well, you’d best get used to weird days, living up at the Lowell estate,” Kjelle grins. “Hiya!” she lashes the reins and the horses shift from a trot to a canter. The cart rocks and rumbles as it rolls along the trail. 

“I’m starting to understand what you mean,” Severa says. “Honestly, I’m just glad there’s someone my age in town.” She leans back against the cart, her muscles relaxing. “I thought it was just weird old farmers.” 

“Well, it’s still mostly that,” Kjelle laughs.” Besides, maybe I’m a weird  _ young _ farmer.” 

“Yeah, I saw your boots,” Severa raises in counterpoint. “Work at a forge?”

“Hm? Yeah, when I’m not helping the old lady run the store.” Kjelle grins again. “Let me know if you need new horseshoes, or fire irons, or axes, or...well, I can get you a discount, is what I’m saying.”

Severa nods and stares out into the dark woods. “Hey, Kjelle, have you made stuff for the Lowells before?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Kjelle nods. “Why do you ask?”

“Rich as they are, I don’t understand how they don’t have a proper set of silverware, or silver dishes. All just cheap iron.” 

Kjelle nods. “Yeah, we’ve done a couple sets of those for them.” She lowers her voice to a hush. “Apparently the daughter has a pretty severe allergic reaction to silver, so…” She makes a face and shrugs. 

“Huh.” Severa leans back again and kicks her legs up. “I’m allergic to nickel.” 

“You don’t say.”

Kjelle doesn’t sound too interested, so Severa prods her rifle. “Got much use for this thing?” 

“Here and there,” Kjelle says. “Mostly just to scare off wildlife. Too far out in the middle of nowhere to have any...human threats.”

Severa laughs. “Wow, don’t sound so ominous.” 

“Can’t imagine you get too many wolves in the big city.” 

Severa frowns. “Why aren’t we taking the other road?” She had taken a different route into town - she didn’t even realize there  _ were _ multiple trails through the woods. 

“For one? The road’s broader here, easier to take a cart,” Kjelle says plainly. “Two? You wouldn’t catch me dead passing through the Midmire.” 

“The…” Severa furrows her brow. “Why? What’s the Midmire?” 

“It’s an old section of forest,” Kjelle says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. “Spooks the horses.”

“Oh!” Severa sits up, eyes widening. “Oh, I think I went through there on my way into town.” She grimaces. “My horse got all weird and stopped running, and my hair stood up on end. It felt like...someone was watching me.”

“Someone probably was.”

Severa blinks. “Wh...wait, what?” 

Kjelle turns to her, her eyes narrowed. “You really need to be more careful, Severa. I know you’re new here, but it wouldn’t do for your bloody corpse to show up in the river so soon.”

“What?” Severa snaps, terrified. “Is...is that likely?” 

Kjelle laughs and tightens her grip on the reins. “Just keep your head down.”

“I…” Severa’s voice trails off, unsure what to say beyond that. 

-

Clouds roll over the mountains, dark and turbulent, but over the Lowell Estate the sun still shines brightly. Wind darts through the trees, rattling branches like skeleton fingers that prod at the wooden cart as it creaks and groans under the weight of its cargo. Severa holds herself close, the chill of the wind slicing through her riding jacket and her leggings. 

Cordelia is in the front yard, cleaning out dead leaves and debris from the road, plucking weeds from where they shoot up between the brickwork. She’s kneeling, leather gardening gloves smeared with dirt as she tries to pull loose a particularly tough root.

“Hey, mom!” Severa waves as the cart approaches. She leaps down before the cart shudders to a stop, patting her horse and running a hand through her windswept hair as she walks.

Cordelia leans back on her ankles and smiles. “Goodness, that’s quite a lot of supplies!”

“Is this really what Sir Chrom wanted?” Severa asks doubtfully. She holds out a hand and helps pull her mother to her feet. “It took them an hour just to load it all up.”

“Hello,” Kjelle smiles and waves. “Kjelle Soiree, at your service.” She tugs the reins and the nervous clopping of hooves turns silent. The horses snicker and whinny anxiously. “You must be Miss...Mrs.? Tiamo.”

“Miss,” Cordelia smiles, holding out her hand. She can’t help but see the way Kjelle’s smile wavers, just a second. 

Surely being an unwed mother wasn’t such an unforgivable sin.

“Well,” Kjelle says, smiling again as she climbs into the back of the cart. “Shall I unload it here?”

“That would be lovely,” Cordelia says, helping Kjelle haul a barrel down from the back of the cart. 

The unloading process takes most of the rest of the day - by the time the cart is emptied, the sun is behind the mountains, making the horizon glow like fire, the leaves lit with a hazy orange. Sharp shadows are cast by the hard angles of the manor, right angles of blackness and sunlight in equal measure. 

Kjelle helps haul supplies into the manor and find places for everything in the dusty, near-empty storeroom. Severa lights a metal lantern at the top of the short staircase down to the dry larder and steps back to allow Kjelle and her mother to carry a wooden crate down the steps. 

Severa takes a deep breath and dabs sweat from her brow as she crossed through the shadowed kitchen and towards the front door. 

“Any trouble getting things from town?” Chrom’s voice startles Severa and she jumps. 

She hadn’t even noticed him sitting in the parlor in the dark - his demeanor is friendly and his voice casual, but his silhouette is shadowed. 

“Nope!” Severa coughs. “Ah, not at all, sir.”

“Very good,” Chrom gets to his feet weakly, reaching for his cane. He limps towards her, and Severa can see his face is gaunt and tired in the harsh twilight shadows. “Very good.” 

“Ah, sir, I had meant to ask - “ Severa starts nervously. “I had wondered if there was something I could get for your daughter next time? Something she enjoys, or perhaps some -”

Chrom pats Severa’s shoulder as he passes. “It’s fine, Severa. I’ll let you know if there’s anything special you need to get.” 

Severa watches him curiously as he disappears down the hall, into one of the many nooks and crannies of the first floor. 

They finish hauling in groceries and supplies; crates and barrels piled in the larder, sacks of flour and sugar, jars of spices, dried meat and smoked fish and preserved fruits and pickled vegetables, tools and construction supplies, soap, candles, wicks, whetstones - enough that Severa truly wonders how Chrom had survived at all before they arrived. 

For the first time, a question occurs to Severa - did the estate have another housekeeper, prior to their arrival? 

Kjelle, determined to head back to town before the sun sets, takes Chrom’s payment before unhitching Severa’s horse and heading back into the woods, relieved of her burden. She smiles politely and waves, but Severa can’t help but notice the way she lights a lamp and grips her rifle as the cart rolls into the darkness. The flickering orange glow around the cart shrinks, and shrinks, and then she’s gone.

And Severa is alone on the front steps, alone with the chill of wind and the rustling leaves and the warm orange glow of the house behind her. 

She can smell something cooking in the kitchen - a simple soup her mother was preparing, and Severa was supposed to be making crackers from some of the old stale bread, so she shuts the front door and latches it before heading into the kitchen to aid her mother. 

Even here, even now, in the strangest of places, Severa wonders how she can feel so much like home when she smells her mother’s cooking. Cordelia isn’t an expert cook by any stretch of the imagination, but the warm smells from her cookpot instantly bring Severa back to their time in the cramped apartments in Ylisstol. Huddled around a coal-fired stove, eating simple soup with ingredients purchased with their mediocre wages. 

Severa begins to prepare a simple side, roasting the stale bread and breaking it into croutons for the soup, and Cordelia begins to ladle some out into bowls - a rich, salty broth with roasted leek and potatoes. Severa’s mouth waters just watching her mother pour out bowls. 

“Remember to make a fourth serving,” Severa says quietly. “For Lucina.”

“Luci…?” Cordelia frowns. “Oh! Yes, of course. Thank you, Severa.” She pulls another bowl down to fill it. “I believe there should be a tray in the cupboard - could you fetch it for me?” 

Severa helps make Lucina’s tray of food, taking care to swap out her own bowl and Lucina’s - giving Lucina a greater serving of vegetables, and more bread. 

The kitchen is empty, lit with candles, an open bottle of brandy sitting at one end of the table, next to a half-empty glass. 

“Sir Chrom?” Severa clears her throat and calls out. “Hello?” 

No response. 

Cordelia gently pats Severa’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take Lucina’s food up to her, and I’ll finish setting the table.”

“Are you sure?” Severa asks, brow furrowed. “Didn’t Chrom say-”

“I’m sure she must be starving,” Cordelia says. “It being a late dinner and all. I’m sure he won’t mind.” 

“I’ll take it,” Chrom says, stepping out into the dining room. “Thank you for the concern,” he smiles, “but I insist that you follow the rules regarding my daughter to the letter.” 

Severa swallows.

“Of course, sir,” Cordelia bows. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Okay, we have to talk about it.”

Severa sits crosslegged on her bed in her nightgown, staring out the window into the darkness. 

Cordelia pulls her own nightgown over her head before tying up her long, scarlet hair. “What is there to talk about?”

“How weird all this is!” Severa throws her hands up into the air.

“Shh!” Cordelia hisses, sitting at the edge of her own bed. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t...say it so loudly.”

“So you-!” Severa stops herself, lowering her voice. “So you agree!” she hisses. “It’s weird! It’s so weird!”

“What do you mean?” Cordelia asks.

“I mean, the thing with the daughter, but…” she purses her lips. “When I was in town today, I stopped by the doctor, to pick up some medicine, like you said. It was...well, um…”

“Severa…”

“It was weird! And scary! I think they’re witches,” Severa says bluntly. 

“They’re not witches!” Cordelia scoffs, pulling back the blankets on her bed. “You know people live differently out here, away from the city.”

“I don’t know, mom,” Severa lays down on her own bed. “Kjelle said some strange things about the woods on our way back from town. She said a section of woods spooks the horses.”

“Well,” Cordelia says, pulling her blanket over her shoulder. “Horses are spooked by anything and everything, you know that.” She blows out the candle on the bedside table, plunging the room into blackness.

Severa stares at the glinting black window, waiting for her eyes to adjust so she can see the stars outside. They never got to see stars in the city - too much pollution, too much light. She can hear her mother’s breathing - even, calm, steady. Her blanket isn’t enough to ward off the chill, nor keep the creeping shadows of fear at bay. 

Severa curls up into a ball, wrapping her blanket tighter. The whole house seems larger at night, a maze of hallways and rooms stretching out in every direction from their bedroom. Severa feels like an ant - just thinking about the house makes her head spin. She’s got the landmarks down - kitchen, larder, bedroom, washroom, storage, Lucina’s bedroom, parlor...which just leaves…

Six thousand more rooms.

Severa rolls over and flops her head against her pillow restlessly. She can’t stop thinking about the strange encounter with the doctor, or the strange way in which her horse was rattled as she passed through the woods. There’s so much out of place, so much that swirls around her, dense as the woods. So much she can barely parse.

Maybe her mother is right. Maybe she’s just unused to the clean mountain air, unused to the silence. Nothing but the owls and the wind, out here. No drunken laughter from the pub across the street, no rattle of carts nor bark of dogs.

She sits up and rubs her eyes.

She must have fallen asleep at some point - her mother is sound asleep in the other bed and the window is tinted with a light fog that obscures the darkness beyond. Severa feels blindly at her bedstand, smacking until she finds - aha!

A match. She strikes it and holds the wooden matchstick up to read the clock. 

Three in the morning.

She sighs and rubs her eyes. Water would be nice. She isn’t really thirsty, but she’s restless, and a drink is as good an excuse as any. She slips out of bed and lights another match, holding it to her candle until the wick flickers and catches. 

The halls are dark and creak under her feet as she walks towards the grand staircase. The wind rattles against the windows as she passes, a cold stream of air drifting down the hallway from somewhere. Her candle flickers but doesn’t extinguish. 

She shivers and rests a hand on the banister as she descends towards the ground floor. 

The house isn’t silent, but it’s too quiet for her to feel comfortable. She can hear everything - each footfall against wood, each of her soft inhales and anxious exhales, the drip of wax from her candle. An owl in the distance, maybe. The scratch of branches against the windows. Tapping like fingers.

Severa gulps and comes to a stop at the bottom of the staircase, holding her candle forward. 

That’s where the wind was coming from, then - the front doors hang open, swinging loosely on their hinges, creaking, creaking. Fog worms through the open door, spilling out on the landing. 

Severa’s candle flickers again, then extinguishes, plunging her into blackness.

She is spared from screaming only by a coughing fit that overtakes her, and the present pain is enough to free her mind from balking at shadows - she coughs and limps towards the door, slamming it shut and cutting off the stream of cool nighttime wind. The fog dissipates leaving Severa along in the darkness and silence.

She fumbles for her matchbox and strikes another one, and the billowing sphere of yellow light makes her feel better. At least safe enough to make it to the kitchen and get herself a glass of water. She sits at the empty dining room table and sets her crystal glass down. No wooden cups for Lord Lowell, no sir. Doesn’t make lukewarm water taste any better - but in all fairness, the water in Ylisstol mostly tasted like copper that leeched in from the pipes. 

Severa drains her glass and leans back in her chair, closing her eyes. Her pulse had slowed enough for her to consider going back to bed. 

She’s washing her glass when she hears it. 

Something moving outside in the bushes. Something rustling. 

Severa pauses and towels her hands off before stepping towards the kitchen window. She presses her face against the glass.

Outside, all is dark and fog. She hears it again - rustling. Movement in the shadowed bushes of the overgrown garden. Severa gently pulls back the bolt and latch to push the window open. The rustling pauses, for a moment, and then the garden erupts with motion.

A piercing, bloodcurdling howl.

Severa shrieks and instinctively throws her glass outside in a weak defense. It hits a flagstone and shatters into a shower of crystal - and then she can hear more rustling. 

She leans out the window and holds her candle forward - “Oy!” she shouts, waving a hand. “Get out of the garden, you rats!” 

Two foxes run in tight circles in the glow of her candlelight, clearly miffed at having their nighttime rendezvous interrupted. One of them hisses and bolts off into the fog. The other stares at Severa for a moment before following. 

“And don’t get into the henhouse again!” she shouts after them. She sighs and sets her candle down on the windowsill before climbing out the window. If she doesn’t clean the glass shards up now, she’ll inevitably forget and shred her feet the following morning. Or, worse - her mother’s feet. 

She kneels down and holds her candle out, watching for glinting shards. She collects a small handful and sets them on the windowsill.

Another bloodcurdling scream - she jumps, again, but she remembers the stories she used to hear from her more rustic friends. Foxes and their horrible, horrible mating calls. 

She sighs and takes a deep breath. Her mom was right - it really is just a different world out here. Less worry of getting knifed for a change purse, more worry about being startled by foxes, or -

Severa frowns. 

In the sea of fog beyond, she can see the shapes of the treeline. Subtle, shifting shadows in shafts of glowing moonlight.

A figure, watching from the woods.

Unmistakably human. 

Severa blinks and rubs her eyes. Not a human, obviously. Just a tree, or a bush, or one of those old overgrown statues, or - nope, still there. Okay. She very calmly climbs back through the windowsill and closes the window, latching it. She takes a breath.

She sprints as fast as her legs will carry her, bolting through the kitchen and dashing towards the staircase, well aware of the candle she left burning on the windowsill - it’d be a spent wick and melted wax by morning, but she’s well past that. She skids around the bottom of the staircase, reaching out to grasp the bannister and slingshot herself around it, keeping up momentum as she bounds up the stairs three at a time. She skitters to a halt as she reaches the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, bolting it, and then leaping into her mother’s bed. 

“Wh?” Cordelia sits upright. “S-Severa? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Severa crawls under the covers and holds the blanket over her head. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?!” Cordelia shakes her head. 

“Just…” Severa tries to stifle her breathing. “Just a bad dream. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, Severa,” Cordelia lays down again and wraps her arms around her daughter. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

“Y-yeah,” Severa says quietly, sniffling as she tucks her face into the crook of Cordelia’s shoulder. She closes her eyes and squeezes her mother tightly. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s okay,” Cordelia says again, pressing her lips to Severa’s forehead. 

It doesn’t matter if there is something out in the woods - foxes or witches, shadows or monsters. Nothing can touch her here, in the warmth and comfort of her mother’s embrace, where she can listen to her heartbeat and her slow, even breaths, and she can let herself be lulled back to sleep.

-

“How long will you be gone, sir?” Cordelia asks nervously, keeping her head bowed.

Chrom straightens his vest before picking up his coat to pull over his shoulders. “I shouldn’t be gone more than a week. I’m sorry, were it not urgent business, I would not wish to leave at all, but…” He gives a weary smile. “My sister’s summons are not meant to be ignored.” 

Severa leans against the bannister, standing on the stairs a floor up and listening to the conversation.

“But must you leave so quickly, sir?” concern creeps into Cordelia’s voice. “Your daughter - “

“I know!” Chrom snaps with an intensity that makes Severa jump.

Chrom and Cordelia both tilt their heads upwards, towards the source of the sound. 

“Severa?” Cordelia calls out. “Is that you?”

Severa winces, unclenching her tense body and standing up straighter. “Y...yes, mother.”

“Come down,” Cordelia says softly. “We’re discussing our duties for the near future.” 

“I’m...I’m sorry,” Chrom says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m under a great deal of pressure, you see. There’s...things that I must attend to. Family business.”

“We understand, sir,” Cordelia says, gently pulling Severa into a bow at her side. “We are here to do whatever we can to ease your burdens.”

“I’ve left instructions in the den,” Chrom straightens his jacket collar. “They are to be followed to the letter. Am I clear? To. The. Letter.”

“Of course, sir,” Cordelia nods. 

“The rest of your duties should proceed as normal,” Chrom stands up and combs out his hair again. “If all goes well, I should be back before the end of the week. If there’s anything you need…” His voice falters for a moment. “Well...use your best discretion.”

Severa notices the way he tilts his gaze upwards, a concerned frown creasing his face as he looks up the stairs. Towards his daughter’s room.

“Of course,” Cordelia says, bowing deeply. “And upon your return we will prepare a welcome home dinner fit for a king.”

“Yes, well…” Chrom opens the front door. “I will send a missive if I suspect my business will take longer than expected.” 

Fog rolls in the open door, the cool morning mist smelling of dew and damp leaves. A carriage sits in front of the manor, black with a velvet interior. A man with brown hair and a stern, serious expression sits in the driver’s seat. 

Cordelia and Severa stand in the doorway, Cordelia resting a hand on Severa’s shoulder as they watch Chrom’s driver open the carriage door. 

“Miss Severa, do please try and stay out of trouble,” Chrom says before mounting up. “Are we ready for departure, Mr. Frederick?” 

“Of course, milord,” Frederick bows deeply and ushers Chrom inside. 

Cordelia waves Chrom off, and the two women watch the carriage depart - it rolls around the drive, creaking and groaning as the horses pull it away from the manor. Severa and Cordelia watch it until it disappears over the edge of the estate grounds, vanishing into the morning mist.”

“Ok I’m gonna go read his letter-”

“Oh no you don’t, Missy - “ Cordelia grasps Severa lightly by the shoulder, holding her back. “We are going to read his instructions together, and we are going to be polite and serious about all of this business. I know you’re...nervous-”

“-curious,” Severa corrects.

“- but we are here to do a job.” Cordelia closes the door behind her. “And we will do as our employer instructs.”

“I know, I know!” groans Severa. “I’m not going to  _ do _ anything, I’m just curious!” 

Cordelia follows her from the foyer into the den, still smelling of liquor and ash from the night before. The fireplace is empty, so Severa kneels to put some logs in and start a fire. As she does, she notices something in the ashes - small bits of paper with charred edges. 

She picks one up and squints at it. The edges are still warm, but it’s too burned for any words to remain. 

“Mom…?” 

Cordelia stands stands by the bookcase, an envelope in her hands. She stares at it.

“Not now, Severa,” Cordelia says, opening the envelope and unfolding the letter within. Chrom’s handwriting is neat and tidy, but the ink is smeared in some places, evidence that it had not been left to dry before the letter was folded up. 

“Why was he in such a hurry?” Severa asks.

“I…” Cordelia stares at the instructions.

_ Madam Tiamo & Daughter -  _ _  
_ _ I regret that I must depart in such haste, and that I must leave you with only the slightest of instructions for you to follow. I would not, were any other options available. My daughter, Lucina, suffers from a rare musculoskeletal illness that renders her weak, fatigued, and prone to heavy fevers, bleeding, and even hallucinations. During some of these episodes she can become manic, even violent, and it is for her safety and your own that I have implemented such strict instructions.  _

_ You are to bring her two meals a day, prepared in the kitchen as usual. She suffers from an iron deficiency, and as such should be fed primarily red meat when possible.  _

_ She is self-sufficient in most ways. Her apartments have a private bath and space to dine, so do not worry about her in those regards.  _

_ However, there is one task which cannot be ignored nor underplayed. Before nighttime, you must make sure Lucina is secure in her bed. Her episodes can deepen in intensity in the nighttime, and the restraints are for her own safety and well-being, lest she hurt herself in her lashing about. In the mornings, when you bring her food, you may unfasten the restraints.  _

_ Knock before entering. I would prefer you keep your time in her room to a bare minimum - two meals a day, and a thorough cleaning at the end of the week. Beyond that, it is best to just let her rest. _

_ I thank you again for your dedicated service, and I leave the estate in your capable hands. _

_ Lord Chrom Lowell, Esq. _

And then, in a hasty, scribbled script at the bottom - 

_ Lucina’s doctor may make an appearance during the week. I do not expect him to, but if he does please give him my regards and allow him to administer treatment as usual. _

-

Severa’s hands shake, clattering the silver in her tray as she ascends the stairs. Lucina’s breakfast is spread out before her - red meat, as requested. A filet of steak topped with a fried egg. It makes Severa’s mouth water just looking at it, but she can’t help but feel dread churning in the pit of her stomach. 

_ This  _ is how these noble kids eat?

Severa stops outside Lucina’s room and sets the tray down on a small table just outside the room. She takes a deep breath, inhaling slowly before rapping her knuckles against the door.

“Good morning, Lady Lucina,” Severa says brightly, in her best service voice. She’d worked with nobles before - the stuffy kind, much less laid-back and gruff than Lord Lowell. “I have your breakfast here.”

There’s no response. 

Severa leans forward and presses her ear to the door, listening. 

She knocks again. “Lady Lucina?” She shakes her head, remembering her manners. “Lady Lowell?”

Severa purses her lips and reaches down slowly to wrap a hand around the doorknob. Chrom had left a key in the den, a key which Severa pulls out of her pocket and slots into the lock with a scrape of metal. It’s a heavy key, and a heavy lock - both shimmering, chrome. Severa rubs a thumb over the bow of the key. Silver. 

What a goddamned waste, Severa sighs, turning the key in the lock.

The door creaks open slowly, so slowly that Severa’s brain manages to go through five separate scenarios in her head before it opens into the bedroom. All of the pictures in her head are composites of fantastical whimsy - horrorshows and ghost stories and visits to the town doctor, seeing the sick and feeble and dying in dirty hospices. 

The bedroom is clean, simple - a wooden floor, a plush rug, a white four-poster bed and a bookcase pressed into the far wall. A door in one corner leads into another room - a study, perhaps? Or the baths. The windows are wide, thick glass panes that look out on the estate, the forests and meadows and mountains beyond. It’s a bright, sunny morning, the sun filtering through sheer curtains and casting a dappled glow across the room. 

Lucina is still asleep.

The first thing that strikes Severa is her beauty - her wavy, dark hair that looks like shades of night blue, glowing softly in the sunlight. Her soft, pink lips, her angular cheeks dusted with freckles, her long eyelashes that flutter in her sleep. Severa is so taken with her beauty that she barely even notices the leather restraints binding Lucina to the bed. 

Hard leather cuffs around her ankles and wrists, connected to the bed with dull metal chains. 

Severa’s gaze drifts lower - the bed is bolted to the floor with metal plates. She frowns. 

Lucina shifts in her sleep, yawning - her voice is gentle and cute enough to make Severa blush, even before Lucina opens her eyes.

She blinks at the sunlight coming through the window, sniffling lightly as she adjusts as best she can in the restraints. 

Severa watches her, silent as Lucina tries to adjust to be more comfortable. Her pillow is damp - soaked in sweat? Severa can only guess. 

Lucina sniffles again, and her adjustment causes a slight trickle of blood to drip from her nose and into her lips. Without thinking, she runs her tongue along her lips to mop up the blood. 

Severa clears her throat.

“WAH!” Lucina yelps, trying to leap up and yanking against her restraints. She swivels her head around, puzzled. “Wh… wait, who are you?” 

“I’m, um…” Severa remembers her manners. She curtsies. “My name is Severa Tiamo, I’m one of the new groundskeepers for the estate. Er, the new groundskeeper’s daughter, I suppose.” 

Lucina frowns. “Oh.”

Severa blushes and tips her head into her shoulder. “I, um… I brought you breakfast.” 

“Oh!” Lucina says again, brightly. “Can you, um…” she glances at her bed with some embarrassment. 

“AH,” Severa remembers. “Yes, yes, of course, milady.” 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Lucina giggles as Severa crosses the room to her bed. “Just Lucina is fine.” 

“Sorry,” Severa says. “Habit.”

“And you?” Lucina tilts her head to the side. “What should I call you?”

“You can just call me Severa,” Severa says, kneeling beside the bed and squinting at the leather restraints. She feels close to Lucina, too close - close enough to feel the warmth of her arm, to see the shifting of her semi-translucent nightgown as the sunlight hits it. Enough to see the silhouetted shape of her body, and enough to make Severa blush furiously and turn her attention back to her work.

The first strap comes undone with some degree of difficulty, but Lucina can assist Severa with the others. Her fingers are long and slender, her nails sharp, her skin cold. Severa almost holds Lucina’s hand in her own to try and warm up the cool flesh, but she thinks better of it, pulling back and standing to finish her work. 

Lucina sits up, leaning back against the bed. She coughs weakly.

“I’ll get your food, mila-” Severa curtsies again. “Lucina.” 

Lucina nods and holds her hand up in acknowledgement, the other balling into a fist that she presses to her mouth. She coughs again, the sound hoarse and harsh. She wipes her nose, smearing red along her skin. 

Severa keeps her eyes fixed on Lucina’s breakfast - now cool, from sitting in the hallway for so long. Severa helps set up a tray for Lucina to eat in bed and watches as Lucina looks over the food.

“Thank you, Severa-” Lucina says, reaching for a fork. She touches it and yelps, yanking her hand back and almost spilling her food on the bedspread. 

“Oh, no!” Severa steps forward, instinctively putting a hand behind Lucina’s back to brace her. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“S-sorry,” Lucina winces, rubbing her wrist. “It um… it must have been a muscle spasm or something.” She gives a weak smile to Severa. “I, um...I don’t usually use silverware.” 

“Oh my gosh, I am SO sorry, milady,” Severa bows deeply. “Please forgive me, I-” She frowns and tilts her head up. 

Lucina is holding the steak in her hands, munching on it as one might eat a piece of bread. She swallows and smiles. “It’s fine, really.” She laughs and takes another bite.

Severa laughs despite herself. “You’re a real weirdo, you know that?” 

Lucina giggles. “Could you please open the window a bit?” 

Severa obeys, taking the time to pull the blinds open and tidy up some things strewn about the floor - books and clothes, mostly. She opens the window and lets the cool morning breeze in, sighing as it ruffles the curtains and flows through her hair. 

Her mom was right about one thing - the clean country air really did feel better on her lungs. 

Lucina eats her breakfast quietly while Severa moves around the room, folding clothes and putting them back into dressers and armoires, tidying up rows of makeup on the vanity. Everywhere there’s books - some open, some with bookmarks tucked inside. Severa skims through a few as she puts them away. No pictures in any of them…

Lucina sits up. “Severa, could you help me for a moment?”

“O-Of course, milady,” Severa says before she thinks better of it. She puts her books on the shelf and moves to Lucina’s side. 

“Can you help me out of bed?” 

“Of course, mil-” Severa coughs. “Lucina.” She removes the tray of breakfast from Lucina’s lap and helps pull the blankets off, offering her arm as support for Lucina to rotate and slip her legs out from under the covers. Her legs are thin, slender and tense, her feet bare against the cold wood floor. 

She grimaces, wincing as she stands - Severa supporting her the whole way. 

Lucina laughs again, leaning against Severa’s shoulder for support as she gathers her strength. She stands up straighter, breathing hard. 

“Do you need anything else, Lucina?”

Lucina blushes, her gaze lingering on the window pane. Sunlight glints off the glass, casting a shimmering rainbow across the ceiling. “If you don’t mind,” she murmurs, making her way towards the window. She stands in the cool air, inhaling slowly. “I...I wouldn’t say no if you would like to visit again, later.”

“Of course,” Severa bows. “I’ll bring your dinner as well.”

“No, I…” Lucina blushes. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve had anyone my age to converse with.” 

Severa laughs and cleans up the dishes from Lucina’s breakfast. “I’m sorry, but I would not be much for conversation. I didn’t even attend school.”

Lucina turns around, limping across the rug to Severa’s side, her voice raising in excitement. “But you used to live in the city, yes? Surely there’s so much that you’ve seen, that you’ve experienced...so much beyond these four walls. I’ve seldom been outside the manor.” She takes a deep breath. “I… I would like very much to be your friend, Severa, if you see fit to allow me.”

Severa smiles. “Maybe I can come back and bring you some tea? I have duties with my mother, but we could perhaps chat a bit.”

Lucina claps gleefully. “Yes, yes! That sounds wonderful. I will prepare a place for us to sit.” 

Severa laughs and watches as Lucina limps unsteadily around the room. She smiles softly, watching Lucina’s infectious excitement. But her eyes linger on the metal bolting the bed to the floor and the leather straps dangling from the sides of Lucina’s bed. 


	7. Chapter 7

Lucina is weird.

Severa had more or less expected that - spending your whole life living almost completely alone in a big mansion in the middle of nowhere probably has that outcome. What Severa hadn’t expected is how upbeat Lucina is - the way her bright eyes shine as she excitedly explains some concept, as she asks questions about the outside world, the world beyond the edges of the Lowell Estate. 

Like Severa, she had been lacking any sort of friend that was her own age, and her father seemed...distant, from what Severa could tell. So perhaps that was it - years of repressed social energy bubbling up and out all at once and spilling over the floor. 

It’s not that Severa doesn’t like her. It’s just that she’s...a lot. 

Lucina sits cross-legged on the rug, opposite Severa. Severa stares at the wooden board placed between them, with little carved totems spread out on the spaces. She reaches for one of them.

“So um...I’m going to take my...um...horsey guy…”

“Knight,” Lucina says helpfully.

“Right. My knight,” Severa picks up the piece gingerly and sets it down. 

“Ah…” Lucina giggles. “It can only move in an L-shape. Look, like this. These are the spaces it can move to.”

Severa scowls. “Well how does that make any sense? It’s a horse, shouldn’t it be able to move wherever the hell it wants?” 

“I dunno,” Lucina shrugs. “I didn’t make up the rules.”

“Can’t you get your dad to play with you or something?” Severa frowns. “I mean...I’m not exactly smart.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Lucina says. 

Severa huffs. “Well, it seems pointless to play a game against someone who doesn’t even know the rules.”

Lucina smiles and blinks slowly. She reminds Severa of a cat, in some ways. Her deliberate, precise movements, her watchful eyes. “Is there a game you like to play?”

Severa purses her lips. “Um...dice. Cards.”

“Oh!” Lucina smiles brightly. “Do you know how to play rummy?”

“I…” Severa furrows her brow. Maybe not the best time to admit that she only knows gambling games and drinking games. 

Fortunately, there’s a knock at the bedroom door that spares Severa from having to answer. Unfortunately, it’s her mother.

“Lady Lucina? Are you in there?” 

“Yes,” Lucina says, trying to stand. She stumbles and manages to catch herself on one of the corners of her four-poster bed, leaning against it for support.

“Hey, I have you,” Severa scrambles to her feet and tries to prop Lucina up before she falls again. 

“Severa?” the voice from outside the door calls. “Is that you?” 

Severa keeps one arm low on Lucina’s back, gently guiding her back to bed. “Yes, mother,” she calls. “I was just-”

The bedroom door opens with a start, practically flinging from its hinges and Cordelia opens it and steps inside. She’s glaring, but it’s not out of anger. Concern creases her brow and draws her lips tight as her gaze flits from Severa to Lucina and then back again. 

“Lord Lowell gave us explicit instructions to stay out of Lucina’s room,” Cordelia grabs Severa’s arm and tugs her towards the door. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Mom!” Severa protests, trying to wriggle out of her mother’s iron grip. “We were just playing-”

“I don’t care,” Cordelia says, her voice low and dripping with frustration. “Lucina, I’m sorry that my daughter was bothering you.” 

“It’s ok-” Lucina can’t even get the sentence out before Cordelia has pulled Severa into the hallway, shut and locked the door, and pocketed the key. 

“Mom, what the hell?!” Severa snaps. 

“Severa!” Cordelia hisses, pulling her away from Lucina’s door. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” 

“We were just spending time together!” Severa snaps. “She’s just a lonely kid!”

“Be that as it may,” Cordelia pulls Severa down the stairs and finally releases her on the landing, “we were brought here to do a job. Lord Lowell gave us explicit instructions to stay out of Lucina’s room when we’re not bringing her meals.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is!”

“We need this job!” Cordelia snaps, her voice louder than she means it to be. “We…” she bows her head, composing herself. “Severa, we cannot afford to lose this opportunity. What would we do if we had to move back to the city? You would have to go back to cleaning chimneys, and...and your sickness would get worse.” 

Severa sighs softly. 

“I know that it’s lonely out here, and I know it’s hard to resist the temptation to...sate your curiosities, but please remember that we are guests in the Lowells’ home. We must be on our best behavior at all times, and treat this as a place of work. Because that’s what it is.” 

Severa sighs again, dramatically, and leans against the landing bannister, gazing down to the floor below. “Mom, she’s…” Severa is silent for a moment. “She’s just a sick kid. I don’t see what the harm in it could be.”

“I know,” Cordelia drapes an arm over her daughter’s shoulders. “I know you’re just trying to help, and that’s very kind of you.” She pulls Severa into a firm embrace. “But for now, it’s best to let things be.”

Severa presses her face into her mother’s shoulder and closes her eyes, returning the embrace. Somehow, things felt a little less scary with at least one mystery solved - but still, a smoldering sadness remains, burning in Severa’s stomach. 

Cordelia presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll bring Lucina her dinner and help her get ready for bed tonight.”

-

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t know,” Severa slumps on the bar, pressing her forehead against the wood. Kjelle laughs and orders another round of drinks for the two of them. 

The town tavern is a small, smoky joint, a squat stone building on the outskirts of the main road. Inside are a few clustered wooden tables and benches, most attended by townsfolk - men and women both, all dressed in varying shades of dirtied work-wear. It’s noisy, crowded, and almost makes Severa miss Ylisstol. 

“She just seemed like a normal girl to me,” Severa sits up as the bartender pours an ale into a dented tin cup and slides it to her. “I mean, she’s definitely sick with...something, but I don’t see why she’s got to be kept locked up all the time.”

“Well, you know those rich folk,” Kjelle waggles her hands ominously. “Always doing spooky shit to each other.”

“So you think, what? Lord Lowell’s locked up his daughter to torture her?” 

“Keep her nice and pretty until he can auction her off to another noble, maybe.”

Severa shakes her head and brings her drink to her lips. “No way. Lord Lowell’s a decent guy. A bit stiff, but he seems to really care about his daughter.” Severa sips her ale and glances around the tavern. Conversation has quieted as furtive glances get passed between patrons. Bare glimpses, not enough to make Severa believe she had really seen anything at all. 

“Keep your voice down, saying things like that,” Kjelle shakes her head. “The Lowells aren’t the most popular folk.”

“That’s what your mom said, too,” Severa murmurs into the edge of her drink. 

“Rich eccentric who owns half the damn valley? Not the sort of reputation that endears you to folk.” Kjelle leans back and stretches, cracking her joints. “Doesn’t help that he’s so reclusive. People say things.”

“Yeah, he’s…” Severa frowns. “I don’t know. I can’t get a grip on him or his daughter. Something feels wrong, but…everything seems above board, y’know?” 

Kjelle shrugs. “You’ll hear all sorts of things in town - black magic, pagan rituals, cult activity. The rumors are that the estate is haunted by the spirits of all the men killed by the elder Lowell, Lord Chrom’s father. And that Chrom himself was involved in the war…” Kjelle glances furtively around. “Just watch your step, around here.” 

Severa laughs and drains her drink. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve made your point.” 

“Besides,” Kjelle says. “I thought you were here to take your mind off work.” 

“Yeah,” Severa says glumly. She did mean to stop thinking about everything - thus the drinks, and heading into town for the evening. Everything felt like so much - the manor, Chrom’s sudden disappearance, the spooky woods, Lucina…all she wanted to do was drink and play a few rounds of dice or something. But even here, all she can think about is that house. 

It occupies her mind, lurking in the edges of her vision - a hulking specter, sliding into the swamplands. The hedge maze, the winding paths of the forest beyond, the manor itself with its endless spirals of hallways and empty rooms. 

Severa takes another drink.

“You keep looking at that girl,” Severa says. “Something the matter?” 

“Huh?” Kjelle’s face flushes red, and Severa suspects it’s not just the alcohol. “What? No, I’m just-”

Severa laughs. “Aw, she’s cute, isn’t she?”

“She’s…” Kjelle bows her head, staring at the bar. “I...I mean…”

Severa stares at her, pausing for a moment before laughing again. “Oh my god, Kjelle, I never thought you-”

“I what?” Kjelle tries to compose herself, rubbing her face. 

“Just...seeing you so flustered,” Severa covers her smile with one hand. “It’s cute.” 

“Shut up,” Kjelle orders another round of drinks. 

Severa stares at the girl, the object of Kjelle’s consternation. She’s a pretty girl, a slender thing with orange hair tied up into short pigtails that bounce as she moves. She’s got the signs of manual labor - muddy boots, overalls over plain clothes, calloused hands and skin tanned from working outdoors. She smiles when she laughs, and Severa understands Kjelle’s fascination with the girl. 

“So who is she?” Severa leans on the bar.

“Her name is Cynthia,” Kjelle says quietly, as if the girl could hear her from across the crowded, noisy tavern. “Her family runs the farm on the southern edge of town, towards the river.” 

“Oh?” Severa nods. “Animals, crops…?”

“Mostly animals,” Kjelle says. “Horses, cows, and chickens, I think. I’ve only been to the farm a few times, when they buy provisions from the store.” 

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Severa asks. 

Kjelle almost spits out a mouthful of her drink.

-

It’s a cool night, a layer of thick mist settling over the village as the moon rises above the valley. The sky is a murky blue, moonlight casting beams through the patches of fog, settling on the huts and houses and narrow streets. It’s quiet, save the occasional murmur of a cat slinking along a building, the whinney of horses tied up at the tavern.

And then there’s the raucous laughter that echoes through the empty village, Severa and Kjelle both leaning on each other, faces flushed red and footsteps unsteady. One of them says something to the other - not even a joke, nothing of consequence, but it gets the both of them cracking up with laughter again.

Severa slips and stumbles, landing in the street with a dull thud before laughing again, pushing herself up and wiping her face. 

“Come on, now,” Kjelle says, helping her to her feet. “Too drunk to stand?” 

“I’m a - “ Severa hiccups, “A lightweight! I’m...I-” She stumbles against and Kjelle catches her, propping her up.

“You’re a mess is what you are,” Kjelle says, ruffling Severa’s hair. “Lord, you can drink.”

Severa grins brightly, her eyes glazed over with intoxication. “That’s...the Ylisstol blood,” she manages to sputter out before hiccuping. 

“Whatever it is, you need a place to sleep tonight, don’t you?”

“Hm?” Severa blinks. “I can ride home once I...once I sober up,” she slurs. “It won’t take too long…”

“Yeah,” Kjelle says, scooping Severa up and draping her over her shoulder. “You’re coming with me.”

Severa can’t even protest. Kjelle hauls her back to the Soiree homestead, dragging her up the wooden steps to the residence located above the shop. Severa is sound asleep, snoring before Kjelle even sets her down on their worn sofa. She finds a blanket to drape over Severa and stands over her for a moment, watching her sleep. 

Severa seems to be more at peace now, when she’s sleeping. Less nervous, maybe. Glad to be away from the eeriness of the Lowell estate and into a house that feels like a home - worn furniture, scuffed tables and all. Kjelle bolts the door and circles the rooms, checking the windows and pulling the shutters closed. 

Severa watches through half-closed eyes as Kjelle bolts the windows shut and blows out the last of the candles.

-

Severa dreams of thunderstorms. She wakes in the night and stumbles about, looking for a place to cough up the alcohol that fizzles in her stomach. She pushes a window open and slumps against it, letting the cool night air dry the sweat on her brow and soothe her red-flushed cheeks. 

The quietness of the village is startling. There’s almost no sounds, save a wind chime rattling in the fog somewhere. A lonely howl echoes in the distance, somewhere in the far reaches of the downs. 

It’s still so startling. Even here, where people live, there is so little sound. Naught but the wind and the wolves. 

She furrows her brow. From her window she can see precious few other houses, but those that she can see are locked up tight - windows drawn, shutters locked and bolted, doors closed and blocked. No one moves about the shadowed streets. 

There’s another howl, somewhere - piercing, loud. Severa stumbles from the window with a start and falls back onto the sofa.

“What are you doing?” Kjelle hisses, closing the window again.

“I just…” Severa breathes hard. “I just needed some fresh air.”

“Ask before you go opening people’s windows,” Kjelle mutters, bolting the window. “Go back to sleep.”

Severa slumps back in her resting place and blinks once, twice, and then her eyes don’t open until the morning church bell tolls.

-

Severa prods her breakfast with disinterest. She had only thrown up three times on the ride back from town, but her head is still pounding. Her stomach churns, making the fried egg and thick bread on her plate look unappetizing. 

Cordelia hums brightly as she cleans dishes in the sink. The sound, usually a comforting one, feels like knives pricking Severa’s ears. She wants nothing more than to lay down and cover her head with a pillow and sleep off the monster of a hangover that’s clawing at her brain. 

“Did you have fun last night?” Cordelia asks, gently scraping out the edges of a cast-iron pan. 

“Yeah,” Severa rubs her temples. 

“I’m glad you’re making friends.”

It’s mostly quiet between them, now that Cordelia has stopped humming. Severa takes a cautious bite of eggs, and finding it staying down, takes another. 

“How is Lucina?” Severa asks.

Cordelia is quiet for a moment, still over the washbasin. “She’s fine,” she says at last. “I brought her dinner last night and she seemed the same.”

“Did she ask about me?”

Cordelia sighs and puts down her dishrag, wiping her hands off on her apron. “Severa, this is why I told you it was a bad idea to spend time with her.” She purses her lips. “She asked after you, and I told her that you were in town visiting a friend.”

“Do you think it would be alright if I brought her breakfast?” 

“Severa…”

“Fine,” Severa sighs, standing up and shoving her chair in with irritation. She leaves her half-finished breakfast on the table and stomps out of the kitchen, still slow and unsteady from her hangover. It takes embarrassingly longer than she would have liked for her to climb up the stairs and find her way to her room - not her room, it turns out. She opens a door to a room filled with dusty furniture, most covered with faded white sheets. 

Her head pulses and she’s beyond caring, so she slumps over to the nearest soft surface and yanks the sheet off of it, ready to crash for the remainder of the day. 

It’s a chaise lounge, with a gilt hardwood back and a thick, padded cushion that would likely have been wonderful to fall asleep on, had it not been for the dried reddish-brown stain that streaked across the entire thing. Severa’s stomach drops. 

Surely this isn’t...blood, right? Severa curls a hand into a fist and drapes the sheet back over it. 

Everything in the room is the same - furniture crusted in dried red, glassware shattered. A large ornate mirror is cracked from a single point, spiderwebs radiating outwards towards the carved wooden frame. Severa stares at her reflection in the mirror - the warped faces of a dozen Severa’s stare back, each in their own fragments of broken glass. 

She sighs and covers the mirror again. 

The day moves with an interminable slowness brought on by the fading pulses of a hangover headache. Severa spends most of the day in a sluggish haze, unable to fully rest and unable to commit herself to working. She half-heartedly dusts the den, the bedrooms, the halls, the bathrooms. She spends an hour scrubbing out the bathtubs and sinks with some acrid-smelling chemical until she needs to go outside and get some fresh air.

And the whole time her mind lingers on Lucina.

She can’t help but cast glances up towards Lucina’s window whenever she’s outside. There are no faces at the window, no Lucina looking back at her. The house remains still and empty, a skeleton wreathed in fog and creeping vines.

Severa stops at Lucina’s bedroom before she goes to bed.

She notices right away that the key is gone - no doubt kept somewhere safe by her mother. She sets her candlestick down and reaches out a hand to knock, but her fingers do little more than brush the polished doorknob. She frowns.

For the first time, she notices something that would be impossible to spot without the shadows cast by a well-placed candle - scrapes in the wood, along the edges of the door. She squints at it and presses a finger against the wood. Someone had hastily painted over the scratches, but the shape remains. Deep gouges that drag back and disappear into the doorframe, like something had been desperately gripping the edges of the door. 

Severa licks her lips. Her throat feels dry, her palms clammy.

“Lucina?”

She knocks gently on the door. 

“Lucina?” 

“S-Severa,” Lucina’s voice is raspy, gasping. “Severa…”

“I’m here, Lucina,” Severa presses her face against the door. 

“N-no,” Lucina’s voice sounds distant and strained. “Please...please leave me…”

“I’m sorry,” Severa murmurs, resting her hand on the doorknob. “I…” She swallows. “I’m sick too, you know. My old doctor, the one back in Ylisstol, said it’d kill me eventually.”

Lucina’s deep, rasping breaths are all that can be heard.

Severa purses her lips and breathes slow, trying to speak carefully. “I just...I want you to know that you’re not alone here.”

“Please…” Lucina asks again, weaker. “Please leave me be…”

Severa closes her eyes. “Okay. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

She steps away from the door and picks up her candlestick. 

“Goodnight, Lucina.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, say hey at lucisevofficial.tumblr.com or @cowboy_sneep on twitter!


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